


A Casual Affair

by alexanger



Series: Casual Affair [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: In Public, M/M, Overstimulation, Sex Toys, Thomas Jefferson continues to be fucking weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7395970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe speaking without thinking isn't so bad after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Casual Affair

Burr really thought there would have been more of a backlash. He’d allowed his mouth to speak without enough consideration, and he’d said something dangerous, something that he should have kept secret; but after a week of no retribution, he has to admit that maybe saying “I love you” wasn’t the life-destroying mistake it could have been.

Still, he can’t let it go. He’s been able to release everything else; the one thing he’s really good at is letting go of things he can’t control, but this uncertainty and guilt sticks with him. He’s determined to bring it up and clear the air but every time he summons the courage, Thomas is doing something else completely surreal, and he lets it fall by the wayside.

(That’s not an excuse - or at least that’s what he tries to convince himself. It just makes sense to let it go when something else more important is happening.)

(He tries to pretend that his love is less important than whatever shenanigan Thomas is pulling.)

For example, he’s escorted up to Thomas’s office the Friday after his reckless declaration only to find the object of his affections perched in a swivel armchair and eating a tomato like one would eat an apple.

“Are you aware that what you’re eating is not a type of pasta?” Burr asks.

Thomas smiles. “Hello to you too, Aaron.”

As Burr approaches the desk, he realizes it’s worse than he thought. There’s a whole tomato vine, and judging by the bare stems, Thomas must have already eaten half a dozen.

“Are … you aware that those usually go in salads?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Thomas says. “You _just_ said it’s not a type of pasta.”

Despite himself, Burr laughs. “You’re going to make your stomach very upset.”

“Nope, I do this all the time. Call it the weekly tomato party or whatever.”

“And,” Burr says slowly, “you can’t choose a different kind of vegetable?”

“Fruit,” Thomas corrects, pedantic and smarmy.

“Okay. So the list of foods you enjoy is now two items long. Tomatoes and pasta. How about, you know, sundried tomatoes or something?” Burr says. “You could get some nice fresh feta and a bit of kale, maybe some pine nuts, and toss it with sundried tomatoes and that would be -”

“Fucking disgusting. Sundried tomatoes are like tomato raisins. Are you trying to poison me?” Thomas finishes his tomato and tosses the stem at Burr. “You are hereby banned from the premises until you can recommend a decent pasta for my salad.”

“That sounds like some kind of wild sex move. ‘Ooh, Mister Jefferson, pasta my salad! Ooh, please,’” Burr moans.

“Shut up,” Thomas laughs.

“Please, Mister Jefferson. Pasta my salad,” Burr continues. He slinks into Jefferson’s lap and presses his lips up along his jaw to his ear, breathing, “your pasta, I need it -”

He breaks off into a shriek of laughter when Thomas tickles his sides.

The guilt keeps trickling back, though. He finds that it’s becoming harder and harder to push it away, and that sometimes when Thomas is speaking, he’ll zone out and only hear half of what’s being said. Thomas doesn’t seem to notice; Burr must look exactly the same when he’s attentive as he does when he’s daydreaming. If anything, Thomas only gets weirder, and sometimes that’s enough to snap Burr back into the present.

One thing that really perplexes Burr is the google man. That phrase comes up so often, and so rigidly the same every time, that he can’t quite work out if Thomas is making some bizarre joke or setting up a very long and convoluted punch line. For example -

“The chef is off tonight, let’s ask the google man for some good delivery.” Or -

“You know that book Hamilton won’t shut up about? I asked the google man about it, and it’s not even _published_ yet. He’s so fucking elitist.” Or -

“Yeah, the google man told me that Beckett play you wanted to see is pretty much sold out, but he managed to get us a couple tickets somehow.”

One day Burr finally swallows his pride and stops Thomas to ask, “what’s this whole thing about the google man? You mean the search engine?”

“Uh, no, that’s google.” Thomas furrows his brow. “I mean the google man.”

“Okay. Who’s the google man?”

“You know Conrad from the office?”

“The guy who sits around at his desk all day playing games on his phone?” Burr asks.

“Yeah. He’s the google man,” Thomas says.

“He’s … the google man. He is the google man,” Burr repeats, trying to make some sense of that statement.

“Yeah. I pay him to do the google for me,” Thomas explains. “I don’t trust google so I get Conrad to search things for me and then go look them up at the library. Or, you know, call around to double check. Google lies a lot so it’s safer that way.”

“What do you mean google lies?”

“One time I googled my name and this page came up that called me a smug purple asshole,” Thomas explains patiently. “Ever since then, Conrad does the google for me.”

(The next day Burr has a conversation with Conrad that consists of asking him exactly how he ‘does the google’ for Thomas.

“Yeah,” Conrad says, hardly looking up from a particularly riveting game of Temple Run, “I just google whatever he asks me to, wait like half an hour, and then text him the answer.”

“I see,” Burr says, barely holding back laughter.

“Man, don’t tell him though. Be cool, okay?” Conrad asks. “I gotta pay rent and this is easier than spreadsheets.”)

Burr briefly considers explaining how google works, but opts instead to make his face carefully blank and say, “that sounds entirely reasonable.”

What else would one expect from Thomas Jefferson? In Thomas logic, that makes perfect sense. Google says something rude about you, so you hire someone to google for you and that way you don’t have to admit you depend on the world’s largest search engine in any way.

Thomas also has a habit of wandering in and out of conversations at will. On more than one occasion, Burr has been talking, and Thomas has gotten up and walked away. The first time, it stung, but Burr quickly adjusts to the point where he calmly puts the conversation on hold and wait until Thomas returns. Finally, though, on a Saturday afternoon, he has to ask, “where are you going?” as Thomas wanders out of the sitting room in the middle of one of Burr’s law stories.

“Nowhere. Keep going,” Thomas says. “I’ll come back when it gets interesting.”

Thomas comes back when Burr steps outside into the garden. Aaron is lost in thought staring at the impatiens lining the pathways when Thomas startles him by pressing kisses to the side of his neck.

“Miss me?” Thomas asks, wrapping his arms around Burr from behind.

“Nope, you weren’t gone long enough,” Burr tells him, arching into Thomas. He can feel Jefferson’s cock through his pants and he grinds back into it, humming with approval when he feels a stir.

“You know the gardener can probably see us,” Thomas murmurs. Burr embarrases himself by moaning softly before he can bite the sound off. “Oh, is that a _thing?_ Guess I’m gonna pasta your salad after all -”

“You literally could not have chosen a way to turn me off faster,” Burr tells him, and he’s forced to swallow those words half a second later when Thomas grabs his cock through his pants.

“So I guess it’s fine that I’m doing this, then.” Without turning around Burr knows Thomas is grinning, and it should be infuriating, but _God_ , the thought of those teeth bared in that predatory smile has Burr half-hard before he can even begin to formulate a protest.

“Perfectly fine,” is what ends up falling out of his mouth. He really needs to stop letting words happen before he thinks about them; his track record is awful. First ‘I love you,’ then that nightmare of a comeback.

“What if, instead of spending tonight in, we go out?” Thomas’s hand strokes and squeezes just enough to have Burr panting and grinding back against him, and it’s distracting enough that Burr has completely lost track of what Thomas is trying to imply.

“Mmmm no, in is nice, I like this,” he protests weakly.

“I have a surprise for you, though, Princess. We should try it out. Come upstairs?” Thomas withdraws his hand and Burr groans, although he obediently follows Thomas up to the bedroom that Burr has, dangerously, begun to think of as ‘theirs.’

Burr _knows_ that when that leonine grin appears, something big and wicked is coming. He doesn’t have to wait long for it; Thomas produces a package from inside the infamous nightstand drawer and hands it to Burr.

With quivering hands, Burr rips open the discreet box to reveal something that looks like a dildo explosion. “I don’t think this will fit,” he half-asks, staring at the toy.

It has a wide base, similar enough to a plug, but the flare above the base opens up almost into an anvil shape. He prods at the silicone and finds that it yields, but even with that softness he can’t comprehend how that has any chance of fitting it inside him.

Thomas pulls it out of Burr’s hands and squeezes the prongs of the anvil together. They join along the middle, rounding and smoothing the top, and Burr suddenly understands.

“You put it in like that -”

“Uh-huh.”

“And then it -”

“Unfolds,” Thomas finishes. “Locks it inside you. Until I decide it’s time for it to come out.”

Burr shivers, realizing his hips are rolling. He wants it; what’s worse, he can’t even feign disdain, and he knows how wanton he must look, speechless and hungry for whatever Thomas is going to do to him.

“Do you think you can take it for me, Princess? Or is it too big?” Thomas’s tone is light, but there’s an edge of danger; he’s goading Burr, pushing him on, and that’s the point where Burr has to resist.

He finds he doesn’t want to. He wants to blindly trust Thomas, to follow him to whatever conclusion he’s decided on, and he wants that thing inside him, and he wants it _now._

“I can take it,” he breathes, his tongue numb, and Thomas pushes him onto the bed. He allows Thomas to rip his pants off, then his boxers, and though he’d usually protest at the speed, he finds himself leaping ahead, egging Thomas on, frantic.

 _This is the point where you need to slow down,_ he tells himself, but he finds he can’t listen. His heart hammers in his chest and he’s barely hanging on when Thomas asks him -

“Can you be good for me, Princess?”

“Yes,” he gasps, and Thomas is pressing lubed fingers against him, opening him up, and he realizes that his seemingly bottomless well of patience seems to have run completely dry. Thomas isn’t going fast enough; he pushes back against Jefferson’s fingers and whines and groans, and Thomas seems to take the hint because he presses two more fingers in and curls the tips against Burr’s prostate.

He’s agonizingly hard and his cock is leaking against his t-shirt. “Are you going to put that in me?” Burr asks brazenly, unfamiliar with the sharp edge in his voice. _That’s the hunger,_ he admonishes himself. _Don’t get ahead of yourself, you need to just relax -_

Then Thomas presses the twin tips of the plug against him and the stretch consumes his mind.

Burr is used to the slow, steady drag of a shaft slipping into him. He is not prepared for the way the plug struggles to fit, and then pops through, spreading open and locking inside him. It’s sudden and violent and it hurts brilliantly; he is opened up wider than he’s ever been, but the outer ring of his ass clenches hard around the narrowest part of the plug, and he finds himself so close to orgasm that he can’t resist wrapping a hand around his cock and pulling a couple times.

Thomas swats his hand away. Burr keens and reaches for his cock again and Thomas grabs both wrists and pins him to the bed.

“I didn’t say you could do that, did I, Princess?” he asks dangerously. Burr shakes his head, torn between obedience and satisfaction. Thomas continues, “I said I’d like to go out tonight. Do you think you can handle it? Or should I take that out of you? Maybe it’s too much.”

“I can handle it,” Burr gasps, desperate to keep the toy inside him.

“Good. Get dressed for me.” Thomas kisses him hard and then gets off the bed. He undresses casually, making no attempt to hide his own erection, and takes his time selecting one particular purple shirt out of probably a thousand nearly identical purple shirts. Burr knows he’s putting on a show, working him up; he find he doesn’t care enough to be irritated. It’s satisfying enough to watch Thomas move and to be able to take in every line of that perfect body.

Burr manages to get his shorts on, despite the urge to get himself off. It’s a struggle to hide his erection; he knows it’s not likely that he’ll manage to get rid of it before Thomas decides it’s time to leave, so the best he can do is leave his shirt untucked and hope no one looks too close.

“Where are we going?” he asks as Thomas finishes putting himself inside of yet another uncomfortably purple suit.

“Dinner with some folks from the office,” Thomas tells him. Burr feels his stomach clench suddenly.

“Uh, excuse me? Folks from -” Burr starts, but Thomas cuts him off.

“One more thing I forgot to mention.” Jefferson pulls a remote control out of the box they’d discarded on the bed. He pushes a button, and the realization hits a split second before the vibration does.

 _This is what happens when you jump ahead,_ Burr tells himself, shame and excitement curdling in his stomach.

 

Burr finds he can walk just fine with it in. He has enough time to work on his gait as he and Thomas descend and walk out to the car, and he watches himself closely in the mirrors he passes in order to examine his movement. There’s nothing disjointed or awkward about his steps; he’s a little shaky, but he can pass that off easily, it’s been a long work week. Maybe he has a slight injury, maybe he’s coming down with some kind of cold, maybe he has a sudden spine deformity or something, fuck, who knows? He’ll be fine, it’s fine, everything’s fine.

Everything’s fine. He sits in the front seat of the car beside Jefferson, and the first five minutes of the drive are fine, just fine, and then Thomas slides one hand into Burr’s lap, stroking his thigh, and Burr practically wheezes.

“Thomas,” he chokes, and Thomas glances at him, taking his eyes off the road just long enough to feign the most innocent look possible.

“What, Princess? Is this too much for you? We can go home,” Thomas says, and his voice is almost believably sweet.

Burr is determined not to let him win. “No,” he manages, but he knows that Thomas know it’s torture to sit there with his ass vibrating and stretched further than it’s ever been before. “Just … wondering where we’re going.”

“You asked me that, sweetheart. We’re going for drinks with some folks from the office.”

“Alright,” Burr manages, shaky and trying to hide it. It suddenly hits him that Thomas said _We can go home,_ not _we can go back to my place,_ and he wants to pretend that means something, but the vibration pushes those thoughts out of his head before he can obsess over them.

That’s one advantage of being this turned on - it makes everything else go away.

Turns out “going for drinks” means “going to the pub down the street from the office,” and as they pull into the parking garage, Burr finds himself wondering if he can convince Thomas to take him into their building, into his office, let him suck that massive, magnificent cock - even just getting Thomas off would be enough, he’s desperate for anything - but they don’t even use the building stairwell to get up to street level, they just walk up the ramp and out onto the sidewalk, and the moment for action is gone. He finds that every step is harder than the last. He wants to sink down onto his knees and let the vibrations overtake him but Thomas grabs his elbow and steadies him.

“Be honest with me, Aaron,” Thomas says. “Can you do this? Am I pushing you too hard?”

Burr hesitates for a moment, considering hard. Finally he answers, in a voice he hopes is steady, “I can do this. You’re not pushing me too hard.”

“If at any moment you want me to turn it off and get it out, tell me. I’ll get it out as fast as possible,” Thomas continues.

“I understand.” Burr risks a quick kiss on the cheek, right where the clean line of Thomas’s beard crosses his cheek, and he can feel Thomas smiling. “I’ll let you know. I’m fine, Thomas, I can do this.”

“I was hoping that was the case,” Thomas says. Burr doesn’t see his hand move in his pocket but suddenly the vibration intensifies, and if Thomas hadn’t been holding him steady he would definitely have fallen.

“You better be ready to finish the job,” Burr mutters. Thomas grins wickedly.

“Of course, Princess. As long as you’re good.”

Burr wants to be good.

The smell of beer smacks him in the face as he follows Thomas into the pub, and he needs a moment to adjust to the lighting. It’s disarming; he’s never in here, although Thomas seems entirely too familiar with the place, and he almost wonders if Thomas did that on purpose. It would make sense to fuck him up like this and then bring him somewhere he’ll be out of his element, off guard, dependent -

Is that paranoia or understanding? Burr isn’t sure. He sticks close to Thomas and tries to look casual.

“Hey, Aaron, you never come to pub night with us!” a voice calls from a nearby booth, and Burr turns to see Conrad the Google Man waving at him. “Cool! We finally have a chance to get to know you!”

“Hey,” Burr offers weakly. He slides into the booth seat beside Thomas and tries to get comfortable sitting on the thin cushion. The base of the plug grinds against the seat, and he struggles not to groan at the pressure. Thomas sneaks one hand under the table and lays it on Burr’s thigh - not terribly high up, maybe mid-thigh, but it’s close enough that Burr’s cock is suddenly interested again.

Sally slides a glass of wine across the table to Thomas, with all the practice of someone well-accustomed to a slightly annoying chore. (Which, to be fair, just about sums up pretty much anything Thomas pays someone to do.) “I wasn’t sure what to order you, Mr Burr, so I just asked for the same thing Mr Jefferson is drinking. He’s partial to riesling so I thought maybe I’d just have them give us the bottle,” she says. Burr’s never heard her say so many words all at once.

“Perfect, thank you,” he says. “Please let me pay you back for it.”

Sally laughs, and Thomas interjects, “I cover all this.”

“All of it?” Burr asks.

“Sure. Office write-off. It’s for bonding purposes,” Thomas says with a wink.

Keeping the office staff happy with free alcohol - government-funded alcohol, at that. What an incredibly Jefferson move.

As Burr reaches for his wine glass he feels the plug start to pulse, and he nearly knocks the glass over. He manages to get control of himself but the pulsing is far more distracting than the steady vibration. It’s a good thing he’s customarily taciturn; it’s easy to pass himself off as a quiet man outside of work as well as at the office. If he were more garrulous - heaven forbid, if he were more like Hamilton - this would be an impossible task.

As it is, he sits and pretends to listen to the chatter around him. He learns the name of the man who takes care of the copy machines - Jason - and promptly forgets it when the pulsing intensifies. He asks Sally about her upcoming vacation and pretends to understand even a single word coming out of her mouth. It’s far too easy, he thinks, to sit and smile along while he surreptitiously grinds against the plug, while Thomas’s hand strokes lazy lines up and down his thigh, while he’s consumed by thoughts of getting on his knees and sucking Jefferson until he comes.

When he can’t take a second more, he excuses himself and heads towards the bathroom, trying not to look like he’s running. Burr locks himself in the single stall and fumbles himself out of his pants.

Two things happen at once. The vibration in the plug roars into full, and his phone buzzes angrily from his pocket. Text messages are flooding in faster than he thought it was possible to type.

 

 **Thomas:**  
\- Aaron  
**Thomas:**  
\- I know what youre doing  
**Thomas:  
** \- Dont you dare even think about it  
**Thomas:  
** \- If you touch yourself I wont lay a hand on you later  
**Thomas:  
** \- Is it worth it Aaron  
**Thomas:  
** \- Put that cock away right now princess  
**Thomas:  
** \- And youd better believe ill know about it if you get off  
**Thomas:  
** \- I know how you look when youve just come you cant fool me

 

Burr debates risking it. Worst comes to worst, he gets off, and even if he doesn’t fuck Thomas at least he’ll still have one mind-blowing orgasm.

In the end he decides against it. It’s torture, being this turned on and unable to do anything about it, but the thought of being rewarded is enough.

 

 **Aaron:**  
\- I’m reaching my limit. Get me home and fuck me.  
**Thomas:**  
\- Magic word?  
**Aaron:  
** \- Please.  
**Aaron:**  
\- Sir.  <3  
**Thomas:  
** \- The excuse is that you’re not feeling well.  
**Aaron:  
** \- Yes sir.

 

The vibration eases off enough for him to get a handle on himself and tuck himself back into his pants. Just the touch of his fingers is enough to make him whimper; he knows that if Thomas made direct contact with his cock, even for a second, he’d blow.

Burr gets back to the table and Thomas is handing a credit card to Sally. He notices eyes on him and he manages to smile weakly and offer a thin, “Sorry.”

“My fault,” Thomas says breezily. “I think my chef must have prepared something that didn’t agree with him - terrible of me not to ask about allergies first - I’ll make sure he’s alright. Sally, could you make sure everyone’s drinks are covered? Order food if you like, just don’t go buying a new car or anything - enjoy your vacation, by the way, love. Have a good night, everyone!”

Burr barely has time to be impressed by how smooth that was before he’s whisked out of the pub and onto the street. The cool evening air is a shock against his face, which he suddenly realizes is flushed and sweaty.

“You look so wrecked,” Thomas tells him far too smugly.

“Jesus, Thomas” Burr stammers.

“You lasted an hour. More than that, actually,” Thomas says, checking his phone. “I didn’t think you’d make it that long.”

“Please -”

“Impressive, Princess.”

“I’m gonna lose it,” Burr breathes. “Please take me home, sir -”

“Patience,” Thomas purrs, and Burr wants to smack that grin off his face almost as much as he wants Jefferson’s cock in his mouth.

He needs to lean on Thomas’s arm in order to get back to the car, and once he’s in the front seat, he feels the vibration intensify. Burr sobs although no tears leave his eyes; he’s too exhausted and burnt out even to cry properly, and if he had more thought power that would probably be something to be ashamed of.

“Princess, you look so destroyed, don’t you? Have you seen yourself?”

Burr shakes his head.

“Look, honey.” Thomas flips the sun visor down and Burr meets his own gaze in the tiny mirror. He’s sweating, he looks exhausted, and there’s an insatiable hunger in his eyes. He can’t help but moan, a small, tired noise that turns into another sob as the vibration speeds up again.

“You asshole,” he manages, and the plug kicks up another notch.

“Just relax,” Thomas tells him, infuriatingly calm. Burr closes his eyes and lets the vibrations wash over him, and suddenly Jefferson’s hand is on his cock, his fingers agonizingly light against him, and it’s almost too much.

“Please,” Burr chokes out.

“Patience,” Thomas tells him.

He doesn’t concentrate on the fingers, then, or the vibration; he focuses on the feeling of the car in motion, the stops and starts and turns, to take his mind off of his body. There’s a sensation of falling each time the car moves after a stop. He imagines falling into Jefferson’s bed.

When they park, he finds he can’t stand. Jefferson comes around to his side of the car and lifts him. Burr is not a small man, but Jefferson carries him far too easily; Burr’s legs wrap around his waist, his arms over his shoulders, and he relaxes into the hold, too broken to worry about Thomas dropping him.

He presses kisses to Thomas’s neck and licks his ear before sucking the lobe into his mouth. “Gonna fuck me?” he whispers; he knows his cock is pressing hard against Thomas’s stomach, and he hopes that the feeling turns Thomas on just enough to make him understand what he’s been enduring all evening.

“No, Princess,” Thomas tells him, and Burr has a moment to whine before he finishes, “I’m gonna leave that in you and make you come so hard you’ll feel it for a week.”

“Okay,” Burr says, pliant and long-suffering.

Thomas lays him on the bed and undresses him, leaving only his boxers. His fingers trail through the precome that’s been leaking steadily in Burr’s shorts, and his voice is awed when he whispers, “fuck, Princess, you got soaked for me, didn’t you?”

“Mmhm,” Burr breathes. “Please -”

His plea is cut off when Thomas yanks his shorts down just enough that Burr’s cock is free, and swallows the shaft. The tension that has been building for hours begins to uncoil and Burr finds himself unable to do anything but bury his hands in Jefferson’s hair and groan, low and long and desperate. He’s far too sensitive; the plug has strung him out and he’s overstimulated and each drag of Thomas’s lips and tongue is excruciating, intense, hedonistic - perfect. He’s torn between pulling away and pushing into Jefferson’s mouth so he settles for sobbing openly as Thomas sucks him off.

When Thomas pulls off he babbles incoherent pleas for him to continue. “No, Princess,” Thomas tells him gently, shoving his own pants off as quickly as he can manage. “Wait just one more minute for me, okay? You can wait one more minute. Thirty seconds.”

“Thirty seconds,” Burr echoes, devastated but trusting.

“Ten seconds,” Thomas tells him, and then he’s straddling Burr’s legs and pressing their cocks together, and he wraps one hand around both of them and starts tugging.

“Mmhm,” Burr growls emphatically. There’s so much he wants to say but he can’t get any of it out - _this is worth the wait, please don’t stop, that fucking hurts, make me come -_

“I’ve been hard for so long watching you,” Thomas is telling him, his voice ragged. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are when you’re like this? I love how full you are, Aaron, and I love the way you moan for me. You’re doing so good and you’ve been doing so good all night and we’re gonna come so hard, both of us, gonna come all over you, just the way you like -”

“Mmhm,” Burr growls again, this time more enthusiastic.

“I love watching you get this worked up, I wanna do this over and over, see you get stuffed and then pretend like nothing’s wrong, like we aren’t doing anything - Aaron, _fuck!”_ Thomas, surprisingly, comes first, and there’s suddenly come all over Burr’s chest and dripping between their cocks, and the sight of it is what Burr needs to tip over the edge.

He’s never understood how people can scream during sex until now; he almost shrieks, the feeling is so intense, and each pulse of his orgasm is agonizing and full and raw. Thomas, thankfully, turns the vibration off as Burr comes down from his climax, and there’s just the pressure of the plug left. His eyes close themselves and he finds it almost impossible to open them again.

Thomas works the plug out of him gently and Burr hisses as it comes free. He feels hollow without it, used and broken, and he’s pliant as he snuggles into Thomas and hums with affection.

“Hey,” Thomas says softly. “Aaron? That thing you told me a week ago. You haven’t said it since, is there a reason?”

Burr stiffens. “Which thing?” he asks, stalling.

“When you told me you loved me.” Thomas’s voice is blank, unreadable.

“Well … you didn’t say it back, so I thought maybe I just shouldn’t say it - “

“Oh, _shit._ I totally forgot,” Thomas says. There’s a pause, and then - “Aaron, I love you too.”

Of course Thomas Jefferson would just _forget_ to say it back.

Burr suddenly realizes he’s been ready for this moment.

“Yeah. I know,” he deadpans, opening one eye. “Of course you love me. You’ve let me practically move into your house. You let me tease you about pasta. You fucked me so well tonight I don’t think I’ll be able to stand up for days. That’s what love is, Thomas.”

Thomas laughs. “I guess I deserve that.”

“I love you,” Aaron tells him, his heart so full it feels too big for his chest.

“I love you,” Thomas whispers back.

**Author's Note:**

> that's the end of casual affair, but not the end of me writing burrjeff. pinkie promise.
> 
> the toy i was describing is a real thing and it's horrifying. it's the 'remote vibrating ass anchor', enjoy that
> 
> for everyone who was reading from the beginning, thank you for following along!
> 
> for everyone who finds this later and reads it all at once, enjoy a completed series.
> 
> comments and kudos give me life. come talk to me at alexangery.tumblr.com


End file.
